Memories From A Lost Childhood
by Kasey Clark
Summary: An event thirteen years buried resurfaces, causing Dean and Sam to remember a time in their childhood they'd rather forget.
1. Prolouge

**A/N: This is a fanfic idea I wanted to try for awhile. Although this, the prolouge, deals with the boys in the present day, I wanted to try my hand at what their childhood was like. So read and tell me if you enjoy the concept. **

**PROLOUGE**

"Hey, Dean, do you remember our old apartment in Utah? The one with all those cats." Sam asked from beside me. We were currently cramped inside my Impala, the windows rolled down and the stereo blaring.

I rolled the volume buttom alittle to the left and peeked a glance at my younger brother. The afternoon was sunny and only the occasional vehicle swerved past on the deserted Oklahoma highway. Last night Sam had kept me awake for hours, screaming incoherent words in his sleep and lashing out at nothing. I attempted to keep his body still, holding his arms against the bed, but that only caused him to become angrier. Using those long legs of his he got in a few kicks at my ribs before I gave up and let go.

I stood at the end of the bed, watching it all pass, calling out his name, until the outbursts stopped and the boy began to cry. He buried his face into the deflated pillow and allowed the streaming tears to roll down his face.

That was the hardest thing for me to watch. My younger sibling, my only friend, let all his pain out in anguish and suffering. Twenty two years of caring for Sam, caused my feet to, without realizing it, move closer to Sam and place my hand on his shoulder. Beneath my fingers I felt his trembling body begin to ease. His shoulders stopped skaing as forcefully, and the tears slowed down. "Dean?"

"I'm here buddy, it's okay. You don't need to cry, I'm here for you," I qouted, placing my knee on the bed and bending down. I had said those same words over a million times to the sleeping boy. Sometimes they worked, and other times they didn't.

That time I got lucky. My voice and firm hand were enough to calm him down and send him into a light slumber, not awkening again until the next batch of dreams stole his mind.

Looking at him in the passenger seat, I wondered briefly if he knew I did those things for him. The answer was no, of course. I refused to be open and share what was on my mind with him because I was afraid. Deep down I was terrified that Sam might see me in a new light, and hate me. I was always scared I would share what I really felt and he'd leave me for it. He'd tell me I was a piece of shit and walk out.

But when he was asleep, I could tell him everything. I could really pour my soul out to him. Most nights I just talked about our hunting trips, telling him how scared I really was, how badly I had to cover it all up, for his sake. On occasional nights I'd spill on some memories I held dear. Although our childhood was a piece of work, there were still stories behind each day. Stories Sam and I longed to share, but knew that the past was dead and we could not uncover it again.

On particular nights, when I was feeling especially lost, I'd talk to him about Mom. He used to always want me to tell him about her. Every night I would crawl into his bed and share some part of her with him, but then Dad found out and forced us to stop. Sam argued that he had a right to know how she was, but the man had stayed persistant, and Sam stopped asking.

"Was that the apartment we stayed out while Dad hunted that pack of vampires?"

I saw Sam nod, his long brown locks flopping up and down as he did so. "Yeah, that was one of our longer stays."

"Well that's because it took Dad forever to find their lair."

"You were only thirteen. He didn't think you were ready for that kind of gig yet. So he had to do it alone." I could tell from the way the twenty two year old kept his head straight and his eyes on the road that a big discussion was under way.

"I could have taken them. Thirteen was pretty old."

"That was a week after you had to get stitches because you go cut falling on broken glass. You were most definitly not ready."

I rolled my eyes. The boy had tried to convince me Dad did the right thing back then, and he was still working it thirteen years later. "All right, dude. Besides, I didn't see you jumping in there either."

"I was a whopping nine, Dean. My blood would have been an appitizer for them."

"What's your point in this anyways?" I pressed my foot on the accelerator. Whenever Sam began his long, over-thoughtout speech, I tended to go faster. To try and make the miles pass quicker. To get to our destination sooner.

"Last night," I let in a sharp intake of breath, praying Sam hadn't seen my eyes widen for a second. "I dreamed about when we were there. About different stuff that happened. But mostly about that one time."

My eyelids closed for a minute. I should have figured it out when he had yelled David's name over and over again. Or when he begged his imaginery captive to let him go.

"Sam, that was thirteen years ago. It's over and done with. The guy's behind metal bars now."

"I just said I had a dream about it. I never said I was worried." He shot me a glare. I wasn't giving him what he wanted. He wanted me to listen to his dream, to try and prevent another one from coming. As much as I enjoyed playing along with that little game, that day I couldn't handle his juvenile fears. Not when I had to use every force in me not to spill my secrets out to him. To not bawl on his shoulder or seek comfort in his arms.

"And I'm just saying that there's nothing to worry about. Even if you do have those weirdo dreams...that wasn't one of them. That was just a bad memory coming back to haunt your ass."

"Oh yeah?" From the corner of my eye I saw Sam's hand reach under his seat and pull out a few sheets of computer paper. "While you went to go get some coffee I found this article in the local Utah paper."

The papers were thrown in my lap, left for me to sort through, while still attempting to drive. "For the past two weeks there has been a community outrage in Patrick County, located just thirty miles south of the corn mill."

"Read on."

I shot Sam one of my, What Do You Think I'm Doing, glances. He returned one back that stated, Trying To Stall.

"Just last month the legend murderer of over seven children was realeased on false charges. The judge ruled that there was false evidence involved and David Robins was, in actuality, innocent. After spending thirteen years in prison, the man will be realeased from his sentence on Friday..." My voice trailed off. I met Sam's gaze once more, wishing that, for once, our life could just have coincidences. That his dream about the past could have been just that, a dream.

But not for us. We were Winchesters. We were forced to deal with every challenge the world threw at us. Our luck was currently, and had always been, at a ZERO.

"Now do you still believe that my dream meant nothing?" He asked in such a childish tone of voice. A tone that mocked me, said that he was right and I was wrong and he had just proved it.

"Well what do you want us to do about it Sam? The guy's being set free in three days. We can't stop it!" I chucked the papers back in his hands, angry at the entire situation.

For several minutes the car was silent. Somehow, during our discussion the Zeppelin tape had ended and failed to flip over. I had begun to think that our conversation was over, that Sam had figured out that what happened over a decade ago was history. There wasn't anything anyone could do to change it. As my hand reached for the eject button, Sam's gloomy voice stopped its journey midway.

"You know, he's being set free because nobody could testify. No one saw him do what he did."

"Sam-"

"Just listen to me! They say it's false evidence. False evidence that WE left behind. Their going to let that man go because they believe he was framed. But really, who was there to testify? Those seven victoms are dead. He killed them. He was so fucking maticulous in everything he did...and that's why he made it to seven."

"I get it, Sam. But what are we supposed to do. We can't-"

"If I had done what I was supposed to I could have landed him on death row. He would never have been set free if Dad hadn't-"

"If Dad hadn't done what he had David wouldn't have even been arrested!" My voice had risen an octive. I had become frustrated with Sam's bagging on Dad. He knew I respected the man more than anyone else, yet he persisted in finding every wrong in him. Anything Dad made a mistake at, Sam would pick apart and throw back in his face. All his life he'd made Dad feel like shit, making him seem like this man who couldn't handle his life.

"And if I hadn't followed his orders he wouldn't be getting out! Don't you see Dean?"

"We prevented him from killing any more kids, isn't that good enough for you?"

"What do you think he's going to do when he's free again? Keep a clean slat? That's bullshit and you know it! He's just going to pick off where he left off. And Dad's not going to be around to help him get caught again."

I sped up faster. My brain knew what Sam was saying was correct. David would just restart the killings and the madness. He would continue to get in his sick pleasure at the cost of other people's lives. But I honestly had not the slightest idea on what to do. I was only thirteen when it all occured, I had allowed Dad to take control, following his orders like a good son.

"Dean, we have to go back there. We have to make sure he doesn't hurt any more people."

"I know we do. I just..."

"What?" My baby brother's eyes frowned in concern. He was silently pleading for me to let down a part of my walls, just enough for me to let loose what was tugging at my heart.

I decided to please him and answer. "This isn't some demonic spirit or paranormal force, Sam. This is real. And I don't know what we're supposed to do."

I saw a twitch in Sam's lips and knew he was satisfied that I had told him what was on my mind.

"We're gonna have to do it like when we were kids and Dad told us to connect the dots. Complete one dot, then move on to the next one. Eventually, they'll all connect and we can see the big picture."

"You went to college for four years and that's the best analogy you can come up with?"

"It came from the smartest teacher," Sam said simply. My lips clenched, because I knew, truely my brother was lying, that was justhis way of apologizing about what he said earlier.

-----

"Mom, I know I talked to you just last night, but I really need your help. This whole situation, it's pretty fu-screwd up," I quickly corrected myself. I was sitting on the hotel chair, pushed up against the end of Sam's bed, my elbows perched on the mattress. Talking to my mother was also habit. When I was younger, and couldn't talk to my father about certain things, I would tell Mary. At first it was difficult for me. I never knew what to say, or what she could hear. But slowly, as time passed, I started opening up and poured everything out.

I had stopped for a few months when Sam had joined me, choosing to talk to his sleeping body. But after Ellicot got in his head, I found more comfort in Mom.

"Why'd it have to be Sammy? There were half a dozen other kids in our complex...why him?" My breath was raggid, I could tell I was on the verge of tears. "It always has to be him. Damn it! Did your killer put some evil spell on him or something? He's not as strong as me, he can't handle as much." I raged on, failing to censor myself that time.

As my rambling continued deep into the night, my head began to rest on my elbows, and my eyes drifted down. It was the same most times as well. I would fall asleep talking, wake up a few hours before Sam, with a bad cink in my neck, and would attempt to make it look as if I had slept on my bed.

As the night wore on my head became filled with memories of Utah and of that little, two bedroomed apartment.

**tbc...**


	2. A Friday Night Spent Inside

**A/N: Before you throw hard objects at me, I'm SO sorry it took so long to come up with Chapter 2. I've been extremely busy, and before I realized it, I'd entered the zone of "waiting too long to update." Promise once I get back in the groove of things I'll bring the chapters more quickly. A brief thanks to everyone who reviewed. I appreciate it a lot. There's no better way to encourage a writer than to read a review. Alright, on with the story! **

**Chapter 1: A Friday Night Spent Inside**

I stood patiently by the front door of our too-small apartment. The rain had just begun to fall, causing a puddle to form under the doorcracks, where the landlord had failed to fix. I wanted for it to be sunny, for the yellow rays shooting from the sky to clear up all water spots. I wanted to take Sammy out to the park, and get in some brotherly bonding while our father was gone.

"I still don't know why I can't go," I moaned to my Dad. The man was in the midst of throwing a duffel bag over his shoulders and walking to the exit. My thirteen year old instincts pushed me to complain one last time, to try and get him to change his mind.

"Dean, you know I can't leave Sam alone for that long. And besides," he stared me down. "I haven't trained you properly on vampires. Once I get this taken care of I'll take you out and show you the ropes. Alright?"

I nodded slowly, my head hung low. No, it wasn't alright. I would much rather have gone to help kill some freak bastard then play mother to Sam for the weekend. But with my father, there was no such thing as debating. What he said went. End of story.

"I left some hot dogs in the fridge, and there's a cart of milk in there also. It should be enough to get you through until Sunday night."

"Is there anything else?" I asked, hopeful. I had entered the teenage world not two months before, and ever since then it seemed like my stomach was always hungry for food.

"There might be one or two other things. Just be sure Sam drinks his milk, we need him strong." I frowned slightly. Of course all Dad cared about was Sam. He acted like the kid was a precious gem, if someone found out about him or looked too closely at, they'd snatch him away from us.

"Yes, sir." With a quick pat on my shoulder, the man turned to open the wooden door, then hesitated for a moment.

"You know the rules, Dean..."

"No games until our homework's done, and no t.v. until we practice sparring."

"And?"

Sighing, I continued. "Under no circumstances, go outside. Unless it's extremely important." The man's face hardened alittle, and his eyes sharpened. He knew both Sam and I hated that rule. When I was eight, and Dad had left us for the first time on an multiple day trip, I begged him to let us at least take a walk. I told him it was vital for young children to be outside in the fresh air, but he held his ground.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, see you Sunday night, soldier," Dad said softly, dissapearing into the rain before I could answer. I hated and loved being called his soldier. It made me feel special, like I was his own personal assistant. But I despised how he named me a helper and always called Sam kiddo. I felt, especially on nights when he was gone, that I wasn't really his son. I was just some child held responsible for another child. One that was, apperently, more important.

"Hey Sam, get on those vocabulary words!" I yelled at the non-apperent child. Although, I knew my demand was useless. Sam had always been good at school, excelling at any subject he learned. Most likey, the vocab, along with his multiplication problems were already finished, and packed away deep inside his organized backpack.

I managed to see through the rain-slicked window and caught sight of my father's beat up black truck driving away. It was exactly the same as before. Me watching the only parental figure in my life drive away, only to return a few days later, abit more tipsy than when he left.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. I checked on Sammy's homework, the kid was a future genius, and then I geared him up and skimmed quickly through some fighting techniques. He hated sparring, but I wasn't ready to completely disregard my dad's orders and let him slide by on training.

I managed to cook up a hot dog and some macaroni and cheese that I sent Sammy to borrow from our neighbor. It wasn't much, but money was tight and Dad preffered silver bullets to tomato soup.

I sat through an hour of a low-budget reality show while Sam sat on the creaky couch, reading a library book. It seemed every free moment the boy got he had his nose dug inside some novel he'd read a thousand times before.

Around nine thirty, when I couldn't stand the silence in the room any longer, I sent Sam off to our shared bedroom to go to sleep. Walking into our temporary haven, I noticed once more the vast contrast between us. Sam's side if the room was impecible. His blue bedspread was made neatly, free of any creases, and the few items of clothing he owned were all folded in drawers. On top of his nightstand were his minute collection of books, arranged in alphabetical order.

My half of the room, on the other hand, was a disaster. The pillows on my twin size bed were knotted with my sheets, and every outfit I had ever worn were sprawled out on the floor. Instead of books, I had car magazines on my stand.

"Dean," the still-high pitched voice of Sam said from behind me. I was waiting for him to finish brushing his teeth and hop into bed when he called my name out.

"Yeah?"

Crawling deep into his covers, I saw his face cring slightly as the remaining rain pattered hard against his window. "Can you talk to me 'till I fall asleep?"

It was a commonly asked question. On nights when Dad left us alone, and the apartment was silent except for the shifting frame, Sam would ask me to, more or less, convince him everything was alright until he felt safe enough to fall asleep.

"Sure, kid. What do you want me to talk about?" I asked, sitting down softly on the edge of his bed.

Sam considered my question, letting a few strands of his unruly hair fall into his eyes. "Tell me about what you want to be when you grow up."

My chest tightened slightly. Out of all the topics a nine year old could pick from, he chose the one I feared most. The thought had constantly crossed my mind. In school, when they made you fill out lifelong goals, I had to miraculously come up with some job I wanted to get. And when someone told me I had potential to follow a certain career path, I had to lie and say that I'd give it a shot.

But with Sam there was no lying. I had tried, God how I had tried to lie about so many things to him before, but everytime he looked at me with those intense eyes of his, the truth seeped out.

Gathering the strength I knew I'd need, I took a deep breath and began. The quicker I started, the sooner the boy would be lulled to sleep.

"Honestly, Sam, I don't know. I mean, I'm not very good at school, so I'll probably not go to college," I had to stop for a moment. It was becoming harder and harder to talk about a life I knew I'd never get to live. In Sam's nine year old mind, he still believed he'd escape the hunting life. He thought he could go on and pursue a life that was more accepted in society. I, on the other hand, had prepared myself. Knew the moment Mom died that this was my life, and I was stuck with it.

"I like cars a lot. Maybe I'll get a job that involves cars."

"You could be like Dad and work in a repair shop," Sam mumbled. His head had drifted to his pillow, and his eyes were already closed.

"Yeah, I guess I could. Or maybe at a dealership. You know, work on nice cars, like BMWs and Cadillacs. I want to be where all the hot girls go."

I saw Sam sigh. He knew the only thing I loved more than him and cars were girls. He still hadn't gotten the whole reason why though. He still percieved girls as disgusting and the owners of cooties.

"I want to own a lot of cars, and show them off at car shows. The types that let you win prizes if your car comes in first. That way I don't have to work a lot."

A soft snore escaped Sam's mouth. I looked down and smiled. It was perfect timing. I was just beginning to have hopes for my unrealistic car collection. If I didn't stop imagining my perfect future, I'd actually begin to want it. Sam might approve of those dreams, but Dad sure as hell wouldn't. He would stomp them out faster than he would a fire.

"Alright, kid, sleep tight." I took one last look at the sleeping body, knowing that within a few hours I'd be back on the bed, trying to wake the child up from some horrendous nightmare he was having.

Leaving the bedroom and walking past the living room, I caught tid-bits of what the news reporter was talking about on the television. My curiousity perked, I made my way to the couch and sat down.

"...this is the seventh time in a period of three months that young children have strangely dissapeared from outside. The parents say that they noticed their kid's absence within the hours of three and six. These are the hours kids are most likely to be outside. Their playing games, goofing off with friends..."

I racked my brain for rememberence of the last missing child. It happened about a week and a half ago. A boy around Sam's age, went to the elementary school about twenty miles from us. I caught a glimpse of the news article on morning when Dad had left the paper sitting on top of the table.

"...Police are doing everything possible to find the children and stop whoever is to blame. Officials suggest that if you allow your children to go out during those times, that you watch them closely, and teach them the rules about when a stranger approaches..."

I wondered for a moment if that was our kind of job. Seven in a matter of twelve weeks was a lot for a normal pyschopath. It could be some paranormal force.

Making a mental note to talk it over with Dad, I flipped the channel and searched for something alittle more entertaining. Finding nothing, I settled on a Cosby Show re-run.

Late into the night, once the rain had finally diminished, I woke up to the screams. I had fallen asleep on the couch, my head hung back and arms laying limply on the furniture, leaving the t.v. blaring.

Wiping away the grogginess that still overpowered me, I wasted no time in reaching Sammy. His sheets were thrown off the bed and his body was soaked in sweat. His skinny arms and legs were flailing widely, preventing me from getting anywhere close.

Watching with a broken heart, I called out to him softly. "Sam...Sam, please wake up. Please! It's not real, you're just imagining things."

The sound of my voice calmed him down some, allowing me to bend over and pull Sam's sleeping body into a hug. "Sam, wake up...WAKE UP!"

I felt hot liquid drop onto my shoulder. Sam had stopped yelling, and was in the midst of a very light sleep. "Hey, it's not real. Okay? It was just a nightmare, Sammy. I'm not going to let anything hurt you. Never."

The voice mumbled something incoherent. "Just forget it. It's done and gone, and I'm here with you now." I felt the body begin to tremble in my arms. "C'mon, lets get you a glass of water." Lifting Sam in my arms, I groaned slightly. It wouldn't be much longer before he would have to walk to the kitchen.

Once Sam was rehydrated and back in his bed, I stood over him protectively. I wished so hard that the nightmares Sam had been plagued with would transfer to me. I would take every single bad image there was, if it allowed Sam to alright. I hated how vulnerable he was, and how there was absolutely nothing I could do to save him from the dreams.

"Dean," I could barely hear Sam's voice, it was so soft.

Letting out a breath, I silently thanked whoever could hear, that Dad wasn't around. He had forced me to stop sleeping next to Sam when I was ten. He said Sam would never grow up if I babyed him, and I had to learn where to draw the line at protecting him. But I figured, that night, it was alright to bend the rule.

Crawling into the bed, I almost felt the terror vanquish from Sam. He got such a false sense of security when I was near, it amazed me. I pulled the ocvers more on my side, watching as Sam glared at me. It was my way of showing it was okay for him to need me. That that was why I was there. Be the mother he never met.

"Night, doofus," Sam whispered from my left.

"Night, kid."

**A/N: Alright, not my best, but give me a break, I just came back from a long writer's block. It'll take some time to brush it off. Chapter 3 will be posted soon! **


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